


ride the (air) waves

by thunderylee



Category: NewS (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, Future Fic, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-24
Updated: 2011-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-27 11:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12580436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Shige had never been much of a talk radio person until Koyama got his own late-night show.





	ride the (air) waves

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck.

The cursor taunts him, blinking rhythmically on the white page that reflects in the lenses of Shige’s reading glasses. They’re not prescription; he just wears them to minimize the glare now that he’s spending the better part of the day staring at his laptop, waiting for the words to come.

This was much easier when he was writing essays for the idol magazines. Even his university papers seemed to simply flow out from the endless stores of academia in his brain. He’s already spent months creating his characters and mapping his plot down to every intricate detail. His publisher has even advanced him a large amount of money to cover his rent and bills while he writes, solely based on a page-long summary and his past success. He just needs to start it.

Everything he tries sounds trite and immature. It’s a mystery story, a series if it sells well, and the most important part about writing a mystery story is keeping the  _reader_  in suspense as well. It’s all planned out in his head, along with numerous notes and outlines, but somehow it’s not transferring well into words.

It’s very, very frustrating. Instead of counting the seconds between blinks, Shige googles some anonymous writing advice. Most of it has to do with inspiration, which doesn’t help him, but others are considerably more relevant. Apparently the surroundings play a large part, which makes sense because of the concentration involved. Just like studying, Shige’s brain associates, except that most of his studying was done in a practice room or backstage.

The outdoors seem like a good place to start. Late in the morning, when Shige is the most alert, he takes his fully-charged laptop to the park and picks a shady bench. Instantly he thinks that whoever thought this was a good idea clearly never did it in the dead of summer. It’s hot and sticky and uncomfortable enough to be distracting. He makes it an hour with three false starts before he gives up, retreating to his apartment and trying again. And again and again and again.

He writes on the balcony. He writes in the car. He tries to write in the bathtub, but it proves to be quite difficult. He writes at the library, the coffeehouse, and even the bar. He’s running out of options, and his publisher wants the first two chapters by the end of the month. There’s only a week left; he’s getting desperate.

The night before it’s due, Shige resigns himself to pulling an all-nighter and puts on a pot of coffee. It reminds him of uni, when he had drama filming and finals and ran on caffeine for about two weeks. The only difference is that as the clock chimes midnight, Shige still has a blank page.

Despite the coffee, he starts to get sleepy and turns on the radio to keep him awake. The voice on the airwaves is very familiar, a smile lifting his features as he recognizes his old friend. He’d forgotten about Koyama’s late-night radio show, usually long asleep before it started. It’s nothing substantial, just Koyama relaying the day’s news and discussing the topics with whoever is awake and calls in to talk to him. Sometimes he plays music, but mostly he just talks about whatever comes to his mind. The radio station just needed someone to fill the late-night slot, and as long as nobody complains, Koyama has free reign of the content.

It’s basically perfect for the non-stop chatterbox. Koyama could hold a conversation with a wall for days. In fact, there were many instances over the years when Shige  _was_  the wall.

Now, however, the voice filtering into his ears is smooth and pleasant. Something to do with the recording, Shige theorizes. Or maybe Koyama just has a different voice after midnight. It’s very relaxing. And inspirational.

By the time the sun rises, Shige has submitted his two chapters and is well into a third with no stopping point in sight, even after his muse goes off the air.

~~~

“I haven’t seen you for  _weeks_ ,” Koyama pouts. “Does it really take that long to write?”

“It really does,” Shige answers, squinting against the afternoon light. He’s not used to being up during the day. Neither should Koyama, but the older man has always been more of a day person. Shige wouldn’t be surprised if Koyama went to bed at dusk and woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at two AM to go to work.

He finds out that he’s right the hard way, when Koyama falls asleep on his lap after they go back to Shige’s place and put on a movie. It’s not any particular movie, just something to do while they exist together, having already caught up on their respective lives and business. Shige had spent so much time with Koyama when they were working together that he didn’t know what it was like to be apart from him, and now that he’s well aware of it, he doesn’t like it.

He looks down at Koyama, curled up like a cat with his arm looped around Shige’s leg like it’s a pillow. If it were anyone else, Shige would be a little creeped out, but it’s Koyama and this is just how Koyama is. Just like how he drags Shige out in the  _daylight_  and makes sure he’s eating, openly declares that he misses him, and hugs him in public.

Koyama shines even while he’s sleeping, literally from the flickering light of the television and metaphorically from the glow that just naturally surrounds him. His bangs are falling into his eyes and Shige pushes them back without conscious thought, becoming aware of his action when he pins the hair behind Koyama’s ear and Koyama jerks a little from the contact. Shige freezes, like Koyama will be angry if he wakes up, when Shige doesn’t think Koyama has ever been angry with him in his life. Shige doesn’t understand his hesitation, which is gone just as quick as it had arrived when Koyama – in his sleep – moves his forehead around in obvious search of Shige’s touch.

Just like his cat, Shige thinks in amusement as he returns his fingers to Koyama’s hair. Unlike their idol days, the strands are free of product and easy to comb through, over and over again as Shige starts at his hairline and continues back. Unlike Nyanta, however, Koyama doesn’t make Shige sneeze or dig his claws into Shige’s legs, although the way Koyama tightens his hold around his makeshift pillow comes close. Shige almost expects him to purr, but a soft, deep moan is just as nice and Shige smiles as he completely forgets about the movie and focuses his full attention on the man in his lap.

It’s not the first time Shige’s  _really_  looked at him, noticing his golden skin and full lips, but it’s the first time he’s equated them with beauty. Koyama is a beautiful person, inside and out, and Shige feels grateful to still be a part of his life even though they don’t work together anymore. Koyama is the type of person to call someone he knew several years ago every week just to see how they are, always finding something to talk about even if they have nothing in common. It’s something Shige loves about him.

At the first thought of “love,” Shige’s attention snaps back to the movie, but his hand doesn’t pause in Koyama’s hair.

~~~

Midway through his book, mainly written between the hours of three and six AM with Koyama’s voice in the background, Shige encounters a plot twist that he hadn’t planned on – a romance between the two main characters. This wasn’t planned at all and Shige kept trying to keep it out, going back as far as three chapters to edit out the hints and subtext he’d unintentionally written in, but they didn’t seem to want to listen to him.

“You’re supposed to be friends!” Shige yells at his laptop. “You don’t even really know each other!”

He now understands why writers often go crazy. He feels crazy, taking his frustration out on his characters when they’re of his own creation and he should be able to control them. He’s angry at himself for letting his own personal afflictions seep into his writing, because his two main characters are  _men_  and it’s impossible to ignore his urge to compare them to himself and a certain friend, particularly when his voice is fueling the atmosphere to begin with.

The anonymous writing advisors tell him that this is normal, which makes him feel a little better until he reads on and sees their methods of coping.  _The best way to get rid of your characters’ sexual frustrations is the same way as real life – have them hook up in an outtake you will never show anyone._  Shige stares drop-jawed at the screen, wondering how the hell that could possibly make things better, but his mind is already gearing forward with the idea and he can barely open up another document fast enough.

He’s traumatized and intrigued at the same time; it’s entirely too easy for his characters to come together, on a desk of all places, and Shige feels his face heat up as he gets lost in the details. It doesn’t help that Koyama is discussing something passionately on the radio, probably the less unfortunate children of the world or family values or something else that gets him all riled up and ranting, and one of Shige’s characters is a little more aggressive than the other, pinning him down and taking control.

Shige’s too into it to be ashamed, his attention on positioning and logical transitions and other technical aspects of transferring the scene in his mind onto paper. Except in his mind it’s not his characters, it’s Koyama and him, and after several instances of transposing the names, Shige just gives in and leaves them that way. It’s not like anyone will ever read it, anyway.

The scene practically moves too fast for Shige to keep up, the Shige and Koyama in the story rushing to be as close as possible. Shige can’t tell whether he’s turned on or inspired, his imagination arousing him more than anything he’s ever seen as he writes out what is turning out to be a sexual fantasy. This has nothing to do with his characters anymore and everything to do with Koyama and him, unfamiliar feelings surfacing with each word that he’s refused to address before now.

Five pages later he’s reaching the climax, literally, his own heart racing and breathing heavy like he’s actually doing what he’s writing himself doing. He can’t get Koyama’s golden skin and full lips out of his mind, flashes behind his eyes as is types as fast as he can. He considers what Koyama’s face might look like as he comes and he can’t push his laptop away fast enough, flopping onto his bed and shoving his hand down his pants until his urge is satisfied.

Then he stares at the ceiling, completely boneless and breathless with a completely clear mind, and he can’t bring himself to feel anything more than relief. He manages to drag himself to the shower, put on a fresh pot of coffee, and return to his original story without anymore problems.

He doesn’t delete the outtake, though.

~~~

Shige’s book is almost done. He feels great as he winds down to the mystery reveal, tying together all of the hints he’s dispersed throughout the previous chapters that all lead up to this moment. His publisher is pleased with his progress and the work he’s sent in so far.

Life is good.

He’s only seen Koyama a few times, their schedules too opposite to meet up very often. It’s hard to look at him at first, flashbacks to that late night lapse of judgment clouding his mind each time Koyama speaks. Shige realizes the trigger is actually Koyama’s voice, not his appearance or his smile or the way Koyama gets excited whenever Shige’s happy. Now that he understands this, he remembers hearing Koyama’s voice in his head when he was typing the dialogue for the aggressive character. It’s not the voice Koyama normally uses, which is usually light and bouncy, it’s the professional, authoritative one he uses on the radio.

Shige wonders how one goes about telling his best friend that he is infatuated with his speaking voice. Not just for his own perversion, either, but as a source of inspiration and encouragement. He figures Koyama would probably laugh at him not even listening to what he’s actually saying, just feeling the smooth timbres of his words and basking in the atmosphere they create. Maybe he would even be pleased that he could help Shige write his book without directly doing anything.

In theory it sounds like a good idea, but Shige isn’t quite sure that he should tell Koyama the specifics. He already plans on thanking him in his author’s notes without elaborating. Koyama’s the last person to judge him for anything, though Shige thinks having explicit homoerotica written about himself may actually cross that line. Even if Koyama wasn’t exactly the one degraded in the scene.

If Shige is being honest with himself, which he’s not, he wants it to be real. Koyama drives him crazy, but it’s a good kind of crazy and Shige prefers it to the other boring, Koyama-less aspects of his life. Koyama brings him excitement and youth, despite being older, and he’s so genuine and honest. He treats his friends like precious things and shares his heart with everyone, caring too much and trying too hard, but Shige wouldn’t have him any other way.

The second outtake begins differently and isn’t much of an outtake at all, but it ends the same and Shige falls asleep on the couch with a big smile on his face as he relives a life he can only live in text. It continues in his dreams, which run free with visions of what it would be like to be with Koyama, physically and emotionally, and while it will probably depress him when he wakes up, for now it’s perfect.

~~~

“Shige~” a familiar voice sings. “Shige, Shige, Shige~”

“Stop it,” Shige mumbles as he stirs, then becomes  _very_  awake at the recognition of who’s kneeling in front of him.

Koyama looks like the cat who’s got the cream, resting his chin on Shige’s arm as he fakes a pout. “Shige doesn’t look very happy to see me.”

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Shige answers honestly. His heart is pounding. “Where’s my laptop?”

“It was right here,” Koyama answers, poking Shige in the belly and laughing when Shige jumps. “I’m surprised it didn’t fall right off and smash into a million pieces. I put it on the table, right there.”

Shige focuses and sure enough, his laptop is on the edge of the coffee table. It’s also open. “You didn’t do anything on it, did you?”

It’s a valid question, since Koyama has not once, but  _twice_  managed to break Shige’s computers as well as his own. They liked to call him technology impaired.

Koyama doesn’t answer right away, and Shige already knows that Koyama had found it. But instead of looking guilty like Shige expects, Koyama eyes him with a complacent expression.

“I wanted to read your book,” Koyama begins, “but I found something much better.”

Shame floods Shige’s body, and he flings his arm over his face to hide. “You were never supposed to see that.”

He doesn’t get a response, and after a few excruciating seconds he lifts his arm to peek out. Koyama’s staring at the couch, rocking back and forth on his tailbone as he sits cross-legged on the floor and licks his lips contemplatively.

“Do something,” Shige says. “Call me a sick freak or something. Storm out and say you’re never coming back. Laugh and forget about it. Do  _something_.”

Koyama rocks forward, grabs Shige’s collar, and pulls him to his mouth. It happens so fast that Shige doesn’t have time to freak out properly, his lips moving against Koyama’s by the time his brain catches up with him. And with the way Koyama flicks his tongue into Shige’s mouth, freaking out isn’t at the top of Shige’s priority list. It’s nothing and everything like he’d thought it would be, what he saw and felt in his mind as he wrote, and he still can’t believe that Koyama’s  _kissing him_.

All too soon the warmth leaves Shige’s mouth, leaving his breathless and confused as he meets Koyama’s eyes. “What-?”

“I had to know,” Koyama replies, breathing just as hard. “You wrote it so well, it was like I was actually in love with you, and I had to make sure I wasn’t missing out on something  _amazing_.”

Shige gulps. “And?”

Koyama licks his lips again. “I think I need to do it some more before I can make an educated decision.”

This time it’s Shige who pulls Koyama towards him, nearly falling off of the couch as their mouths collide again and it’s perfect. Koyama leans up on his knees and hovers over Shige, looping his arms around Shige’s shoulders as they kiss, and Shige’s so inspired that he forgets this is real for a little while.

Koyama’s just as aggressive as Shige had written him and Shige loves it just as much, the fantasy fading back into reality as their bodies slide together and Koyama makes love to him right there on the couch. Much later, as they calm down, Koyama can barely leave his mouth long enough to speak.

“What made you write that in the first place?” he asks, looking incredulous despite his post-coital glow. “I mean, I’m glad you did, but the inspiration had to come from somewhere.”

“Your voice,” Shige blurts out, then blushes as Koyama grins. “I had writer’s block and it was getting down to the deadline, then I heard your radio show and suddenly it all came pouring out. Your voice is the only reason my book got written at all.”

Koyama looks inexplicably happy, just like Shige had known he would, but his eyes are still expectant. “That’s great, Shige, but it doesn’t explain the… other stuff.”

“It was your voice,” Shige says again, and it means something different this time. “It sounds different on the radio, more… assertive.”

The smirk forming on Koyama’s face tells Shige that he knows exactly what happened, and the next words that come out of his mouth are in his newscaster tone. It sounds even better in person and Shige arches beneath him, gearing up for round two with Koyama saying dirty things in his ear and the climax of his novel can wait a little while longer.

He has to end  _this_  scene first.


End file.
